


No More Secrets

by dbw



Series: Secrets [4]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-24
Updated: 2009-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbw/pseuds/dbw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Episode Interludes Part Two"</p><p>Set after <i>The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg</i>. However, in order for this episode to fit in with the story, assume that the final scene in Major Crime when Blair is offered the detective's badge never happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted March 2003
> 
> A funny thing about this final story. It was supposed to be Blair's tale, his revelation of the secrets he'd been keeping. And in a way, it is. But I had the devil of a time making this story come together until I started listening to what Jack Kelso had to tell me. This is as much Jack's story as it is Blair's.

"I always wondered if my work would ever amount to anything. If it's taught me one thing, it's taught me that Jim is right. I got it all. I got it all right here. The brass ring. And now I know what to do."  
_The Sentinel_

 

Helen glanced over her shoulder when she heard the tinkle of the bell that hung in frontof the shop door. A young man stood by the entrance, looking around curiously. His hair was long and wavy, a lovely, rich shade of brown that Helen just knew would throw glints of red and gold when the light hit it just right. She turned back to Mrs. Gilchrist and sighed to herself. He was probably just looking for hair care products, not an appointment. Someone with a mane like that never let just anyone work on it. Too bad, really. She'd love to get her hands on all that glorious hair, even if it was just for a tiny trim of the ends.

"I'll be right with you," she called out.

"No problem." His voice was surprisingly deep for his stature and had a melodious note to it that made her smile.

She finished spraying Mrs. Gilchrist's hair and accepted her payment before making her way to the small counter at the front of her shop. The man was still there, waiting patiently with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The blue and white plaid flannel shirt he wore was unbuttoned at the throat, revealing a white waffle pattern thermal undershirt. Now that she was closer, Helen could see that he was a bit older than she'd originally thought. He had an air of sadness about him and there were dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't been sleeping much lately.

"May I help you?"

He nodded. "I need a haircut. If you have the time?"

Her eyes widened. "You're in luck. I happen to be free right now. If you'll follow me?" She led him to the styling chair and shook out a clean smock. As she fastened it comfortably around his neck, she asked, "How much do you want off the bottom?"

He smiled slightly. "I should have been more clear. I don't just want to trim my hair. I want to cut it. Off." He raised his hand to his ear.

She blinked. Off? As in short? In her more than 25 years in hairdressing, she'd been in this situation several times, only it was usually with girls who wanted to get rid of their long hair for a more styled look.

"Are you sure, honey? I'm sorry, but it's such a drastic thing for someone with hair like this to do. I'd hate to cut it all off and then have you decide you'd made a terrible mistake."

He nodded slowly. "Believe me, this isn't a whim. I really do want to cut it off. I'm not going to change my mind."

"Well, all right, if you're sure? Just how short were you thinking?"

He shrugged. "I don't want a buzz cut and I don't want anything hanging down my neck. Other than that, I'll leave it to you."

Helen swallowed and then nodded. Well, she'd always prided herself on her ability to rise to a challenge. "In that case, let's wash your hair first. I'd rather work with it while it's damp."

An hour later, Helen accepted her payment and a rather large tip from the enigmatic young man for his transformation. During the process she'd tried to draw him into conversation, but as it became clear that he didn't want to talk she'd given up, concentrating instead on her work. He'd kept his eyes averted from his reflection while she snipped away with her shears. When she'd finished, he'd stared silently for several minutes, studying the man with the short, curly hair who stared back at him. Finally he'd heaved a great sigh and nodded.

She watched him leave her salon. The odd thought struck her that, if anyone had asked, she wouldn't have identified him as the same man who'd walked into her salon an hour earlier. Shorn, he seemed younger and vulnerable, as if without all of that hair to hide behind that he was somehow exposed to the world. She frowned slightly at her fancy and then reached for the broom to sweep up the discarded hair. Whoever he was and whatever had happened that had made him decide to change his appearance so drastically, she wished him well.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jim rested his forehead on his hand and stared down at the form on his desk, wondering what language it was written in and when it had changed from English. He absently kneaded his leg, the ache from the bullet wound hurting less than the black hole in his heart. An emptiness had developed there two weeks ago and seemed to be growing larger with each passing day.

Two weeks. 14 days. 336 hours. God alone knew how many minutes and seconds. That was how long he'd had this particular pain. The precise amount of time since he'd returned home to discover that his partner was gone.

He shut his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to block the thoughts that chased around and around in his brain. He and Simon had been so proud of themselves. They'd really thought that they had a solution for Blair. Maybe not the one that he would have chosen if everything hadn't been torn apart in the aftermath of the leaked dissertation, but a solution nonetheless that Jim hoped would be acceptable to his friend. Simon had pulled some strings and they were going to offer Blair a detective's badge. All he'd have to do was pass the Academy course material, including weapons and self-defense training, and then he'd be Jim's permanent, official partner.

But they never even had the chance to offer it to him. Blair wasn't at the precinct as expected when they arrived and he wasn't picking up his cell or the phone at the loft. Naomi was as puzzled as Jim about where he could be, but she had a plane to catch and she breezed out of Cascade as unconcerned as she'd been when she'd breezed in earlier to wreck havoc on their lives. He knew he was being unfair, but he wasn't feeling particularly charitable at the moment.

After waiting for nearly an hour for the kid to show, Jim had asked Joel to drive him home. When he limped into the loft he discovered what had happened, or at least why it was that Blair hadn't shown. He'd left. He'd packed his bags and high tailed it for parts unknown, leaving a _Dear Jim_ letter behind.

Jim sighed and glanced around the bullpen, but no one was paying any attention to him. He gazed unseeing at the form on his desk. That stupid letter. Telling Jim that Blair was sorry for everything. That the only way Jim would get his life back was if he, Blair, wasn't a part of it. That if he stayed there'd always be questions about why Jim was allowing the _fraud_ to hang around. That the last three years had been the best years of his entire life and that he'd never forget Jim.

Just thinking about it made him want to throw up.

"Where's Blair, Ellison."

"Kelso." Jim sat back and wearily regarded the scowling man sitting in the wheelchair across his desk. It was a sign of how off balance he was that he'd never even heard the man's approach.

"Well?"

Jim shook his head. "I wish I knew."

"Have you even bothered to look?" The anger in Kelso's voice made him sit up straight.

"What the hell do you think? I've turned Cascade upside down looking for him. He's not here, believe me. He's been gone for two weeks. I've had a trace on his credit cards and his car for the entire time. There's been a whole lot of nothing. He might as well be invisible."

"Are you telling me that you didn't kick him out?"

"Hell no, I didn't kick him out. He left on his own accord, without a word to me."

"And I should believe you, why?"

Jim stood abruptly and leaned forward, resting his hands on his desk. He was about to let fly with the fear and frustration that had been building over the last weeks, when his Captain interrupted.

"Ellison!"

Jim straightened at the familiar bark. "Sir?"

Simon motioned him to his office and he complied with alacrity, not sparing a backward glance at the man in the wheelchair.

"Mr. Kelso? Would you join us please?"

Jim blinked, but wisely refrained from protesting. He dropped into the chair in front of Simon's desk and studiously avoided looking at Jack Kelso as he maneuvered his chair around next to Jim and flipped on the brake.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?"

Jim watched as Simon lowered himself into his chair. He was still moving slowly since finally returning to work after having been shot by Klaus Zeller.

"Why, yes, Detective, I did. I thought that since Mr. Kelso here was also looking for Sandburg, that maybe we could pool our information. See what we could come up with together. Unless you'd rather just yell at each other for awhile. Would that make you feel better, Jim?"

Jim could feel his cheeks burning and he shook his head.

"How about you, Mr. Kelso?"

"Ah, no, Captain Banks. I think I'm pretty much done." Kelso looked sheepish. "And please, call me Jack."

"Good. Good." Simon nodded. "Then maybe you could start by telling us, Jack, just why it is that you're looking for Sandburg." He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm worried about him. I--"

"Where the hell were you a month ago?" Jim interrupted angrily.

"Jim." Simon shook his head. "Let the man finish."

"I've been out of the country." Jack frowned. "I've only been back in Cascade for the last three days and today was my first day at Rainier. A few of Blair's colleagues -- and I use that term loosely -- were practically salivating at the opportunity to tell me about his press conference. If I'd been here when the dissertation...mess...was happening I would have tried to help. Now, I'm just trying to find Blair. I need to talk to him."

Simon cocked his head. "Again, why? Pardon me for being blunt, but from what Jim's told me, you'd be about the only one from Rainier who feels that way."

"Captain Banks--"

"Simon."

"All right, then, Simon." Jack smiled briefly. "I know Blair. I'm sure he had his reasons for what he said at that press conference. While I don't claim to understand what happened, it doesn't change the years of friendship that we've shared."

"Too bad more of his so-called friends didn't understand that," Jim muttered. He glanced at Jack and smiled slightly. "Sorry for my attitude earlier."

"It's understandable." Kelso shook his head and looked at Simon measuringly. "Look, I hate to do this, because it's betraying a confidence, but I'm beginning to see that you need to know something. I tried my best to convince Blair that he should at least tell Jim,  
but he was too afraid of what it would do to their friendship." He sighed and looked away for a moment.

Simon shared a puzzled glance with Jim. "I'm afraid you've got us at a disadvantage, Jack."

"Look, you have to understand. The reason I'm here right now is because I haven't been able to find Blair. Now you tell me he's gone and no one knows where he is and I've been given some disturbing news from a, uh, source that's got me convinced that he's in trouble. Well, that and I wanted to know where Ellison stood on all this. I'm afraid I'd already half-decided and I let my anger get the best of me. I apologize for that. If I could help Blair without betraying his secrets I would, but I don't see any other choice."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Just what secrets are you talking about? Does this have anything to do with the frantic phone messages you left for Blair a few months ago?"

"Yeah, Detective, it does. I'm going to tell you a story that you're going to have trouble believing, but I assure you it's true."

"We're listening."

"Blair never told you how we met." It was a statement, not a question.

"I never asked. I just assumed that you met at Rainier."

"Even if you'd asked him, he would have found a way to avoid answering. Truth is, Blair's the one who suggested I apply for the position at the University. We met about a year and a half before that and what might as well have been a universe away." He smiled slightly. "He saved my life, gentlemen. You both know that I was a researcher for the CIA. That much is public knowledge. What isn't as well known is that I occasionally did field work. Nothing too dangerous, just the odd courier job. Stuff that would allow me to understand a little of what it was like to be out there on the front line, so to speak."

Jim nodded. "I'm not surprised."

"The last job I did had a little something extra attached to it that I wasn't privy to, something that got me into a world of trouble. I can't tell you where I was or what I was doing, because it's classified. I can tell you that I was injured while being captured. The  
injury was aggravated by beatings. Let's just say that my captors weren't too concerned about medical treatment and they threw me into their version of a holding cell. I was in a lot of pain, but I was lucid and alive. It wasn't long before I found myself regretting that."

He closed his eyes briefly and when he looked at them, Jim sucked in his breath at the raw pain he saw there. Simon's office faded away as Jack related his story.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jack groaned and dropped his head back against the damp stone floor. Where the hell was he? Stone floor, stone walls, no windows and dim light, heavy wooden door with bars on the single small opening, damp and dank -- the small room looked like someone's unimaginative version of a cell in a medieval dungeon. And to top it off, he hurt like a son of a bitch from whatever they'd used to beat him with. Wonderful.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position and brought his legs under him to stand up. Or at least that was the instruction his brain sent to his body. Unfortunately his legs stubbornly refused to obey. God, he couldn't feel his legs! His heart tried to pound its way out of his chest and his lungs burned as he desperately sucked in oxygen. Bowing his head, he ran his fingers back through his hair, gripping and pulling, fighting against the building hysteria. He had to remain calm, approach the situation rationally. That's what he was good at, right? Taking the rational approach?

He prodded and pushed at his thighs with his fingers and bit down a sob at the lack of feeling. This couldn't be happening. Surely it was temporary. They'd beaten him badly and this was probably just a result of his injuries. Once he healed up a bit he'd be as good as new. He would. He knew it. He'd just have to wait and hope he didn't go insane before the feeling returned.

The next few days were among the worst of Jack's life. For the most part his captors ignored him, except when they sporadically remembered to bring food and water. The first time they came he was so thirsty that he pulled himself across the cell floor with his hands, dragging his useless legs behind him, in order to get to the water.

They refused to open the door if he was too close to it and that meant that he had to drag himself to the far corner of the cell if he wanted more food and water. The food was indescribably bad, over-or-undercooked and usually spoiled, but he ate it anyway. He had to keep up his strength and that meant eating. It was the only thing he had any control over at the moment and that was all that mattered.

He was never sure just how many days passed while he was in that cell alone. The randomness of his meals rendered them useless for keeping track of time. He knew that it had been several days simply because he grew weak from lack of regular nourishment and water. He was beginning to wonder if it wouldn't be better to just stop eating, let nature take its toll on his body. Not a pleasant way to die, but it was starting to look like an attractive alternative to his current existence. After all, he was most likely going to die soon anyway, so why prolong things? He wasn't important enough to the Agency to warrant a trade and he doubted that there'd be a rescue any time soon.

It wasn't long after he'd started thinking like that that the telltale sound of a disturbance outside his cell caught his attention. They'd brought him food and water not more than a couple of hours before and the guards never returned so soon. He raised up on an elbow to watch the door and was surprised when it was flung open and a man was shoved inside to land sprawling on the stone floor.

Whoever he was, he looked in bad shape. He didn't move from where he'd landed and in the dim light Jack could make out extensive bruising on his arms and the small portion of his face that he could see. He was breathing, but Jack wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Who was he?

The guy groaned and rolled over on his back. Jack's eyes widened as his gaze wandered over his face. He was just a kid! His face was almost too pretty for a man and yet there was nothing feminine about him. His hair was short and curly and matted with dirt and blood.

Jack dragged himself across the floor, pulling his small jug of water with him, until he was right next to the kid. He hissed in sympathy at the amount and colorful nature of his bruises. He knew from personal experience just how thoroughly the bastards who held them enjoyed their work.

He carefully tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of his none-too-clean shirt and dampened it with water from the jug. Keeping his touch light, he dabbed at the worst of the cuts and scrapes that accompanied the bruises, trying to clean the dirt and blood away. Finally, he decided that he'd done as much as he could, the rest was up to the kid. Jack crawled back over to his unfinished meal and ate it. Who knew when his cell mate would wake up? There was no telling and he wasn't about to waste food while he had it. He did save about half of his water, but he told himself that he would have done that anyway.

About an hour later Jack was roused from a light doze by a deep groan. He watched as the kid shifted on the stone floor until he was sitting up, his head in his hands. In the dim light Jack could see that he hadn't gotten his bearings yet. He waited quietly while the kid gingerly touched the bruises on his face and then eased his one good eye open. When his wandering gaze touched Jack both eyes opened wide.

"Are you Jack Kelso?"

Whatever Jack had expected to hear, that wasn't it. He nodded cautiously.

"Cool." The brief grin surprised Jack even more.

"You're American."

"Blair Sandburg." The grin returned. "I'm here to rescue you."

"Clever ploy this." Jack raised an eyebrow and gestured at the cell. "Getting thrown in here with me."

Blair nodded. "Yep. I've got them right where I want them."

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jim glanced at Simon and they both chuckled.

"Sounds like Sandburg hasn't changed much," Simon said. "But what the hell was he doing there? Are you telling us that he worked for the CIA? I find that hard to believe."

Kelso shook his head. "No, Blair never worked for the CIA. I don't know how aware you are of some of the smaller organizations that exist on the fringes of the intelligence community?"

Jim frowned. "I know a bit about them. I had to deal with some of them when I was a Ranger as well as when I did some liaison work with the Agency."

"So you know that some of them have direct ties with the government and some are more, well, I guess independent is the kindest word I can think of to describe them."

"Independent." Simon snorted softly. "Why do I get the feeling that that's a polite term for something that's a whole lot nastier?"

"Because you're a smart man?" Kelso smiled slightly. "There's a particular organization that's about as, um,_ independent_ as they get. It's run by a man named Arthur Crandall. Ever hear of him?" He glanced at Jim.

He shook his head. "Nope. Wait a minute. You're not saying that Sandburg worked for this group? If it's as bad as you're implying, then I don't believe it. There's no way."

A corner of Kelso's mouth turned up in a wry smile. "You're both right and wrong, Detective. Blair did work for Crandall, but he didn't know anything about the seamier side of the organization. You have to understand, Crandall's entire agenda is about power. He wants it - as much as he can get and in any way he can get it. He's had his fingers in so many different things; it's amazing he's been able to keep track of it all. And he's always looking for new recruits."

"So how did he get Sandburg to work for him?" Simon asked.

"You know how young Blair was when he started college. He'd traveled a lot with his mother, but he was still only 16 years old. He was full of passion about anthropology and the world in general."

Jim winced at the reminder of what Blair had sacrificed for him.

"And?" Simon raised an eyebrow.

"Crandall played on his ideals and his need. Scholarships only go so far and grants are hard to come by for an undergrad, even a brilliant one. Naomi seems to manage to get by quite well without having a lot of money to her name by relying on a network of friends and, uh, others. Blair, on the other hand, was alone at Rainier and he was running out of money. There aren't many jobs out there for a 16 year old that pay well enough for the hours he could work to be worth his while. He was scheduled to go on an expedition during his first summer break and that's when Crandall approached him."

"There's no way that Sandburg would work for an organization like that just because he needed money." There may be things about his partner that Jim didn't know, but no one would convince him of that.

"You're right, Detective. Money was just the sweetener. Crandall spun a tale about how the work they did helped free political prisoners who were being held in countries where due process was a joke. Think Amnesty International with a twist and you can see where that would have appealed to Blair's desire to make a difference in the world."

"My god." Simon's eyes closed briefly. "It probably wouldn't have taken much to convince him if it was pitched right, but what was it that he wanted Sandburg to do?"

"Crandall's patient, I'll give him that. He recognized potential in Blair and he was willing to take the time to cultivate it. Blair started out as a courier. He was well paid to deliver information to certain parties when he went on expeditions. Each time Crandall could point to the release or escape of one or more political prisoners or refugees and Blair could see the tangible results of his efforts. It wasn't long before Crandall asked him to become more directly involved. Soon he was making short trips on his own. He always wrote a paper or article about the places and peoples he visited, so he was able to justify his travels academically." Kelso paused.

"There's more, isn't there?" Jim asked softly.

Kelso nodded. "Of course. What tragedy doesn't have a dramatic conclusion? The one thing that Crandall couldn't get Blair to do was carry a gun. He'd gone through the training and he could handle just about any weapon." He smiled sadly. "You probably didn't know that, did you?"

"He's always seemed so uncomfortable with guns," Simon said. "I just assumed that it was because he was unfamiliar with them."

Jack shook his head. "No. He truly believes that he can talk his way out of just about everything and so has no need of a deadly weapon. That if he ever allowed himself to carry one, that something essential within him would change forever. He was wrong, you know, but in a way, he was also right."

Once again, Simon's office faded away as Jack took up his tale.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

"Yep. I've got them right where I want them."

"Yes, I can see that," Jack said sardonically. "And now that you have them where you want them, just what are you going to do with them?"

"Do?" Blair blinked. "Nothing. That's the beauty of my plan, man. Now that I'm here it's all a matter of waiting."

"Waiting? Waiting for what?"

"Who, not what." Blair shifted to his knees with a groan. "Look, I realize you don't know me from Adam, but you do know someone named Salah, right?"

He frowned. "And why should I admit anything to you?"

Blair shook his head. "You don't have to, all you have to do is listen. Salah said to tell you that he's coming. It might take a day or two to get everything lined up, but we just have to be ready to go when they get here. That's all."

Salah? Could the kid be telling the truth? Salah was coming for him and all he had to do was be ready to go? A bark of laughter escaped him at the irony of it all.

"What?" Sandburg frowned.

"Well, you see, that's going to be a problem."

"What do you mean, problem?"

"I can't move my legs, kid. Kind of hard to make an escape when you can't walk."

Sandburg silently stared at him. Jack was becoming uncomfortable under his unyielding gaze when he finally spoke.

In a firm, quiet voice, he said, "Doesn't matter. I'm getting you out of here even if I have to carry you. We're not leaving you behind."

Jack shook his head. "Don't be a martyr, kid."

"Name's Blair, not kid. I'd appreciate it if you'd use it."

He shrugged. "Whatever you say, k- Blair."

He handed his water jug to the kid and watched as he swallowed. Jack wondered why he was really there and he was determined to find out. Appearances could be deceiving. He'd already been taken for a fool during this fiasco and he was determined that it wouldn't happen again.

"You're not with the Agency." He kept his voice carefully neutral.

Blair returned the water jug. "Agency?"

"CIA."

He huffed. "Not hardly, man." It was obvious he was trying for amusement, but there was something in his tone of voice that made Jack take notice.

"Then who?"

Blair leaned back against the stone wall of the cell and stared at the ceiling. "No one." His voice was bleak.

"Don't try telling me that you're here on your own. I'm not that naive, kid."

He rolled his head against the stone wall of the cell and stared at Jack. "I am now. On my own, I mean."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "And before this?"

"I used to work for a guy named Crandall. Arthur Crandall. Ever hear of him?"

Shit. Everything he'd heard about Crandall was bad news. "Yeah. I've heard of him. What happened?"

Blair snorted and turned his head to stare up at the ceiling again. "I was the naive one. I thought I'd been given the opportunity to do some good, make a difference, you know? I was an idiot."

"Still doesn't tell me what happened."

The kid crossed his arms over his chest and shivered. "I thought I was supposed to deliver some documents about political prisoners to a contact," he said softly. "When I met the guy he opened up the packet and then handed me an envelope. There was information in it implicating another man in the mass murder of his political rivals and instructing me to follow the contact's orders. The guy handed me a gun and told me that I had to kill the man mentioned in the documents."

"Who was it?" Jack asked softly. "The man you were supposed to kill, I mean."

Blair closed his eyes and replied in a dull voice, "Salah."

"What?!" Jack frowned. "That's crazy! Salah's worked for justice for his countrymen for years. He'd never be involved in something like that."

"Tell me about it." Blair shook his head. "I guess Crandall never figured that I'd be aware of who Salah is. I don't know. I just knew that I had to get out of there with my skin intact and warn him. So I took the gun and said I'd do it. When I met up with Salah I explained what was going on. He thought it was funny." He snorted again.

"Sounds like him." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't explain why you're here, though."

"Salah was already planning your rescue and he asked if I wanted to help out." Blair's shrugged. "Seemed like the least I could do. He's a good man, you know?"

Jack swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Salah's a good friend." And it looked like young Mr. Sandburg was going to join him in that category, he thought.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jack glanced between Jim and Simon. "In the end it took a lot longer than a couple of days. Salah later told me that we were in there together for almost a month. It isn't what was supposed to happen, just an unfortunate set of circumstances that led to a change in plans. At first, Blair spent almost the entire time talking to me. I'm sure you know how he persistent he can be. After a while I think he knew me better than I knew myself."

"Bet he didn't give away much about himself, though, did he?" Simon asked. He shrugged when they both looked at him curiously. "For as much as the kid can talk, he doesn't really ever say all that much about himself."

Jack nodded. "That's true. But you know, sitting there in that cell, I guess I caught him in a few unguarded moments. I managed to get the story of how and why he started working for Crandall. And that led to how he'd grown up and a lot of talk about his mom. I'm not sure he's ever realized just how much he gave away about how he really feels about his childhood to me." He shook his head.

"I believe it," Jim said softly. "You said that at first he talked to you?" He raised an eyebrow, inviting further explanation.

Jack gripped the armrest of his chair tightly and nodded. "Yeah. After a few days, though, our jailers must have gotten bored. I'll never know why they left me alone until Blair showed up or why they suddenly decided to be interested in me again. Three of them came into our cell and started to drag me out. I couldn't put up much of a struggle and there wouldn't have been much point. I'm not sure what happened really, but suddenly Blair was in their faces yelling at them. To this day I couldn't tell you what he was saying, but whatever it was it pissed them off enough to drop me and grab him instead."

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jack sat propped against the rear wall and strained to hear anything outside his cell. Blair had been gone for several hours and he wondered if he'd ever see the kid again. Why the hell hadn't he just let the bastards take him? Jack had already acknowledged to himself that even if a rescue attempt was made that he wouldn't be going anywhere. He'd only hinder them and get them all caught. Why couldn't Blair see that?

He remembered the way Blair had looked when he'd first been dumped in the cell and couldn't help but worry about what was happening to him now. He'd never told Jack just what it was that he'd done to get himself brought there in the first place. Every time that he'd had asked about it, Blair had effectively sidestepped the question and changed the subject. All Jack knew was that bribery had been involved to ensure that Blair ended up in his cell.

He was so lost in his brooding thoughts that he almost missed the sound of approaching footsteps. His head jerked up as the cell door was unlocked and then Blair was unceremoniously dragged inside and dumped on the floor. Without a backward look, the two men left the cell and locked the door again.

Jack was almost afraid to find out what had been done to the kid, but he dragged himself across the stone floor to the prone figure. He reached out to clasp a shoulder and flinched back when Blair moaned and curled into a tight ball, his back to Jack.

"Blair?"

A pain filled voice said, "God, I hurt, Jack." He coughed and then moaned again.

"What did they want?" Jack's hand hovered over the his back, not knowing where or whether to touch him.

Blair carefully shifted until he faced Jack. His eyes were wild and there were bruises around the corners of his mouth, but otherwise his face was untouched. Jack could see marks around his wrists, but whether they were from ropes or handcuffs, he didn't know.

"Want? They didn't want anything. Well, except to have a little fun."

"Fun?" He shook his head.

"Yeah. Seems it's fun to tie somebody up and gag them and then figure out ways to inflict pain." Blair chuckled, a raspy, broken sound that cut at Jack. "Who knew? All this time I've been wasting going to movies and playing basketball, I could've been having so much more fun torturing people."

"Blair." Jack touched the side of his face and then opened his arms when Blair whimpered, drawing him into a loose embrace. He could feel the body in his arms shake with unvoiced sobs. His eyes filled with tears of frustration and rage. There wasn't a damn thing he could do to change their situation, but he _could_ do this. He was willing to hold onto to this young man and provide whatever comfort he could if that's what Blair needed.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jack sighed and stared at the clenched fists on his lap. "That was the start of it. Every few days they'd come back and drag him out. It happened three, maybe four times, I think. Sometimes he was only gone a few hours. Once he was gone for so long that I didn't think he was coming back. I figured they'd finally killed him."

Jim swallowed heavily. He had a flashback of Blair bound to Lash's chair, his heart hammering when Jim was finally able to free him. How had he managed to keep it together? And afterwards? He had to have had nightmares, but Jim hadn't heard anything.

"Jesus, Jack." Simon's voice was somber. "I never would have guessed."

A wry smile crossed Kelso's face. "Blair's become a master of misdirection and obfuscation. You said it yourself. He may talk a lot, but he doesn't often reveal himself."

Jim studied Jack's face. "There's more, isn't there? As painful as this is to hear, it doesn't sound like something that you'd feel compelled to tell us. What happened when you were rescued?"

"Good guess." Kelso shook his head. "You can imagine Blair's state of mind by the time Salah finally got us out of there. The guards hadn't come for him in a while and he was working himself up into a full blown panic anticipating that they'd be there for him soon. Salah and his men showed up first. I guess it was lucky for me that the original plans had to be scrapped, because he came in with a large raiding party instead of one or two people. They were able to carry me out of there."

"What about Sandburg?" Simon asked.

Jack sighed. "I was so caught up in the fact that we were getting out of there that I didn't notice that one of the men with Salah handed Blair a gun."

Jim glanced at Simon and frowned. "What happened?"

"As we were leaving we came face to face with one of the guards that had participated in Blair's torture sessions. I know he raised his weapon. I'm not sure what would have happened. I guess something snapped inside Blair. He's never talked about it, even with me. All I can tell you is that Blair brought his gun up and emptied it in the man's chest."

He paused at their gasps.

"No way," Jim said flatly. "Sandburg couldn't kill anyone."

"You sure about that?" Jack asked softly. "What about in self-defense? You don't think that he'd be capable of killing if he thought he had to do it in order to save you?"

Jim squirmed under Kelso's piercing gaze.

"As it turns out, he didn't kill the man. The guy was wearing a Kevlar vest and the gun Blair had just wasn't powerful enough to pierce it. Didn't matter. One look at Blair's face and I could tell that what he'd just done had devastated him. Sometimes self-knowledge isn't what it's cracked up to be."

"You're saying that Sandburg was placed in a situation where he thought he had no choice but to kill someone?" Simon demanded.

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying. It's what Crandall had wanted out of Blair all along - an assassin that he could control. Blair's smart. He'd figured it out, only it was too late." Jack sighed. "I think he went a little crazy, then. When we were away from the prison the group split up. Half of them took charge of me. They got me out of the country, to a hospital and eventually back to the U.S. Lucky for all of us, Salah had Blair. I don't know exactly where he took him, but Salah helped Blair put the pieces back together, at least as much as he could. I didn't see Blair again until I'd been back in the States for several months and was at loose ends. We've never talked directly about what happened in that cell, but we became good friends all over again."

Jim closed his eyes. He could feel Blair's pain at having thought he'd taken a life as though it was his own. All those times he'd handed the kid a gun or ragged on him to learn how to fire one. Why hadn't he tried harder to find out why Blair was so adamant against it? And what were they thinking when they, no, when _he_ decided that making a cop of Blair was the right thing to do for him? Not for Blair, he thought bitterly. Making the kid a cop was all for Jim.

Jack turned to Ellison. "Crandall was the reason for my phone calls a few months ago, Jim. I'd heard that he was looking to pull Blair back into it and I was trying to get to him to warn him. I was too late. Crandall dangled Salah in front of Blair and he felt like he had no choice. He had to go. He told me later that it was another setup. Salah never asked for him."

"I knew something had happened when he showed up at the loft then, but I let him sidestep my questions. I always meant to try to get him to open up and talk to me about whatever it was, but so much happened right after that that I just let it slide." Jim swallowed heavily as the image of Blair being pulled from the fountain flashed before his eyes.

Kelso shook his head. "He would have found a way to avoid talking about it. He's gotten pretty good at that over the last few years. I tried over and over to get him to tell you about Crandall, but he was ashamed. He was so afraid of you finding out, Jim. Your good opinion means everything to him."

Anger flared briefly in Jim's eyes and then died. "Damn it! I've done things in my life that I'm not proud of. I've had to kill and he knows it. He never indicated that he thought any the less of me. How could he believe that I'd think less of him?"

Simon snorted. "We're talking about Sandburg here, right? That kid thinks you can walk on water, Ellison, no matter how much he protests that he doesn't. He may be strong, but the few times you've had major problems between the two of you, he's been hurt badly. Can you really picture him feeling secure enough to tell you about something he'd done that he's ashamed of, rightly or not?"

Jim hung his head. He wasn't sure whether he was glad to know Sandburg's secrets or not, but what he did know was that it didn't matter to him. Blair was a victim, as much as he'd been a victim of Colonel Oliver's machinations when he'd been stranded in Peru. Knowing these things only answered questions and filled in blanks about Sandburg that he hadn't consciously realized were there before.

He glanced at Kelso. "So, exactly how does this help us find Sandburg?"

Jack rubbed his forehead. "Let me ask you something, first. How long has Blair been gone?"

"Two weeks."

"What did he say when he left?"

Jim looked away. "He didn't say anything. I got home and he was gone. He left a note. It just said that he wanted to give me my life back and that there'd be too many questions if he stayed."

"And?"

"And what?" He glared at Kelso. "What do you want from me, Jack? I didn't ask him to leave and I've looked for him everywhere. There's been no sign of him in Cascade. He's gone."

"Why didn't he leave right after the press conference?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me. If he was going to go, why didn't he leave right after he gave that press conference and declared himself to be a fraud? Why wait?"

"What are you saying?"

"The Blair Sandburg I know would have left right away if that's what he intended to do. He wouldn't have hung around for--"

"A week."

"Okay, for another week and prolonged the agony. So why did he leave when he did? And the way he did? The way he feels about you, Jim, a note is too impersonal. No, I think something else happened."

"You think this Crandall contacted him." Simon frowned.

Kelso nodded.

Simon shook his head. "I don't see it. From what you've said, there's no way that Sandburg would have gone back to work for that guy."

"Unless Crandall threatened him with something," Jim said in a flat voice. "Or maybe threatened me."

Simon's eyes widened. "Yeah," he said slowly, "that would do it."

"The question is," Jack said, "where is he and what is it that Crandall wants him to do?"

An uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Jim clenched his hands into fists. Where _was_ Blair?

"Maybe you're wrong," Simon said. He raised his hands. "Seems to me that you're making a pretty big assumption, Jack."

"I don't think so. You're right about one thing, though. I don't know for a fact that Crandall has anything to do with this, but based on the intel that I was given, I have to believe that it's highly likely."

"Just where did you come by this information? How good is your contact?" Jim rubbed the back of his neck.

Jack hesitated just long enough to set off warning bells in Jim's head. "I have no reason not to believe the information I was given."

Jim narrowed his eyes. "That's an evasion if I've ever heard one. What aren't you telling us?"

Kelso cocked his head and sighed. "You're not going to like it. Hell, I don't like it, but I verified as much of what I was told as I could and it all jived."

Jim sat up straight, suspicion growing. "Just who is your contact?"

"Lee Brackett."

"No way!" Simon stood abruptly and leaned over his desk. "There's no way that he could be out of prison by now."

Kelso shook his head. "I hate to break it to you, but Brackett's been out of prison for well over a year."

"Son of a bitch," Jim muttered. "And he just happened to give you the information on Crandall and Blair out of the goodness of his heart?"

"Do I really look that stupid?" Jack asked in a dry voice.

Jim shrugged. "I'd never call you stupid, but none of us seems to be thinking clearly where Blair's concerned at the moment. How can you be sure that Brackett's not just yanking your chain?"

"Because he wants something."

Jim exchanged an apprehensive glance with Simon. "Why am I not surprised? Just what is it that Brackett wants this time?"

"He wants to be the one to turn Crandall in."

"You've lost us again, Jack." Simon slowly sat back down in his chair. "Why don't you start at the beginning with this?"

"Brackett showed up in my office at Rainier yesterday." Jack smiled slightly. "Needless to say, I wasn't all that pleased to see him. But he managed to say the two words that made me stop dialing campus security and listen to him. Blair and Crandall. Seems he stumbled across the two of them when they met in the Miami airport a few months ago. I guess seeing Blair with Crandall was a shock, even for Brackett."

Jim shook his head. "Great."

"Brackett was let out of prison on a leash. His handlers have managed to keep a pretty tight hold on him and he hasn't found a way to buy his freedom. When he saw the two of them in Miami, he decided to follow Blair. He wouldn't say what happened, but after that Brackett started to keep tabs on what Crandall was up to. Brackett thinks Crandall's trying to turn himself into a major player, someone answerable only to himself. There's been rumblings that he's managed to have a few of his detractors eliminated. And it seems that the only weak spot he may have is Blair."

"I don't understand." Simon frowned. "How could Blair be his weak spot?"

"From what Brackett has pieced together, Crandall was not happy when Blair managed to extricate himself from his clutches. He's been a bit obsessed with Blair ever since, though he hasn't done anything overt about him except for what happened a few months ago. After Blair's press conference denouncing his dissertation, it looks like Crandall figured he had the opportunity to pressure Blair to come back to work for him."

"That just doesn't sound reasonable to me. Are you sure you believe all of this?" Simon raised an eyebrow.

Jack nodded slowly. "Obsession is never reasonable. I've verified and re-verified as much of what Brackett told me as I could and it's all checked out."

Jim sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "What did you mean when you said that Brackett wants to be the one to turn Crandall in?"

"You remember that I said that Crandall wanted to turn Blair into an assassin? That's evidently what he still wants."

"Shit. No way will I believe that Sandburg would deliberately kill someone." Simon shook his head emphatically. "Not even to save Jim's skin."

Jim closed his eyes and swallowed against a terrible thought. Softly, he said, "No, he wouldn't. But he might go along with whatever it was until he was forced to act. I just don't think that what he'd do would be to kill someone else."

Simon stared at him, a horrified expression on his face. "Not going to happen, Jim. We're not going to let it."

"Damn straight, Sir." Jim was forcefully reminded just how lucky he was to count his Captain as his friend.

Simon turned to Kelso. "Did Brackett know who Crandall wanted killed?"

"Unfortunately, he doesn't have a name, but his best guess based on the intel he has is that Crandall's target is Washington's Senator Franklin. Seems that the good Senator is requesting hearings on the conduct of the intelligence community and rumor has it that one of his primary targets is Arthur Crandall."

"Franklin's coming out to Washington to campaign for re-election, isn't he?" Jim frowned. "I know that we have the security detail for when he arrives in Cascade, but his first stop is Seattle." His eyes widened.

"You said you haven't been able to find any trace of Blair here in Cascade." Jack made it a statement.

"Because he's in Seattle?" Jim nodded slowly. "He'd need to familiarize himself with the surroundings, make sure he knows the routes that Franklin will be taking to his rallies and figure out where the best vantage points are located for the kill."

"Jim!" Simon glared at him.

"I'm just saying, if Blair's playing along with this at all, he'll be acting out all of the expected bits. And what I just outlined is the minimum that an assassin would be concerned about." He turned to Jack. "If Brackett's right about all of this, then that's got to be where Blair is right now."

"So, what's our next move? Go to Seattle?" Simon leaned back and pursed his lips, his expression thoughtful.

Jim shook his head. "That would be the worst thing we could do right now. When does Franklin arrive?"

"Four days from now." Jack rubbed his chin. "Don't forget Brackett wants to be in on this. He thinks that if he can prove that Crandall's behind the assassination attempt that he'll curry enough favor with those in power that he'll be able to slip his leash. I don't like it, but I want to help Blair more than I care about the benefit for Brackett."

Jim rose, walked over to the window and gazed out unseeing on the city. "I don't want to make a mistake with this. We have to be sure that this is what's happening before we make a move or we could blow it. Jack, are you still in contact with Brackett?"

"Actually, yeah. He's, uh, staying at my place for the moment." He shook his head. "Never thought I'd be saying that."

Jim turned and gave him a half-smile. "Lucky you. I want the two of you to work on his information. I'll pull in every marker I've still got and see if I can come up with something. I'd say we have two days and then we'll have to move."

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Two days later, Jim sat in Simon's office, bringing him up-to-date on his inquiries. His contacts at the CIA had stonewalled until he'd played hardball with them. Then they'd sounded almost relieved to tell him all about Crandall. Unfortunately they didn't know much about the people who worked for him. They expressed personal warnings against dealing with the man. _'As trustworthy as a snake,'_ was how one person had described Crandall. They'd also expressed their suspicions about the deaths that Jack had told them about.

He was explaining this to Simon when a commotion drew their attention to the bullpen. Jack Kelso was wheeling himself through Major Crime followed closely by a man that none of them had ever wanted to see again.

"Fuck!"

Jim was on his feet and through the door with Simon following on his heels. He didn't stop until he had the object of his ire slammed face first against the wall.

"Miss me, Jim?"

Jim grabbed Lee Brackett's hair and viciously pulled his head back. "Shut the fuck up. When I want you to say something I'll tell you." He pressed harder against Brackett, pushing him into the wall and eliciting a pained grunt.

"Ellison!"

"Jim!"

Simon grabbed Jim's arms and forced him to let go. Brackett rather wisely refrained from moving, considering that he was surrounded by several members of the Major Crime division who looked like they'd just as soon shoot him as look at him.

"I probably should have called ahead," Kelso said with a vague wave of his hand toward Brackett, "but frankly we don't have time for this display of macho theatrics."

Jim shook himself and glared at Brackett. "I know, I know. But I don't have to like dealing with him."

Kelso glanced around the room at the curious faces and added, "Can we move this some place private?"

Simon nodded. "Let's take this into my office." He turned to his detectives and barked, "Back to work, people!"

As the others moved away, Joel turned to Simon, his face contorted with anger. "Simon, you aren't just going to turn him loose, are you? You can't do that. I don't care why he's out of prison. This isn't right."

Simon gripped his shoulder. "I know Joel. But this isn't about Brackett."

Joel shook his head. "If this isn't about Brackett, then what is it about? What could possibly be so important?" His gaze darted from Simon to Jim and understanding dawned on his face. "It's Blair, isn't it? Don't shut me out of this, Simon."

Simon sighed. "Come on, then." He dropped his hand and headed for his office.

Jim nodded at Joel. They were going to get Blair back, safe, sound and whole in spirit. Failure was not an option.

Simon waved them to their seats and turned a grim face to Brackett. "I can honestly say that I wish I never had to see you again."

Brackett shrugged. "If it's any consolation, this is about the last place that I'd choose to be if there was any other way to do this. But I've been trying to find Ellison's wayward Guide on my own and I haven't had any success. It's going to take Jim's Sentinel edge."

Jim started and then narrowed his eyes at Brackett's evident amusement at his reaction. He glanced at Joel.

Joel calmly folded his arms over his chest and smiled. "Old news, Jim. You didn't really think that any of us bought Blair's lies at his press conference, did you? Why do you think we all told Simon that we didn't have any objections if he brought Blair on board? Give us a little credit for being detectives in our own right."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Joel. You can understand why I don't want it discussed publicly, can't you? I never meant to lie to any of you. I just..." His voice trailed off and he raised his hands helplessly.

Joel nodded. "Like I said, Jim, we're all detectives here. We're good."

"Are we done with the encounter session?" Brackett asked snidely.

Jim hid a smile when Joel ignored Brackett.

"What's this about Blair being your guide?" Joel kept his gaze on Jim's face.

"That's what Brackett calls him." Jim pointed at his adversary. "I don't know why, but it seems to fit."

"It fits because that's what he is. Too bad he never found that companion paper by Burton talking about the role of the Guide to the Sentinel." Brackett raised his eyebrows. "Oops, guess that's 'cause I've got the only copy in existence. Maybe if we all play nicely I'll send Sandburg a copy of it when we're done. Now can we get down to business? We've verified the information and this _is_ happening gentlemen. We need to get to Seattle and have Ellison do his dog-and-pony show to bring me Crandall."

"You're not in any position to give orders, Brackett," Simon growled the words out in a deep voice.

"Fine. You don't want my help, have fun on your own."

Brackett made an abortive attempt to head for the door only to find himself blocked by six feet of pissed off Joel Taggert. He raised his hands and turned around to face the others.

"Look. We don't have much time. The Senator arrives in Seattle in two days. Ellison has to find Crandall and Sandburg. And he has to make sure that there's enough evidence to implicate Crandall in the assassination attempt. I have some ideas about where Crandall might be. Do you want my help or not?"

"Jim?" Joel looked stricken. "Assassination attempt? What's going on?"

"I'll explain it all on our way to Seattle, Joel." Jim turned to Simon. "I'm going to need help. Okay if I take Joel with me?"

Simon nodded. "Yeah. I want someone we can trust watching your back. Let's get down to it, gentlemen. Time's wasting. What's your information, Brackett?"

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jim flattened himself back against the wall of the hotel hallway. He held his gun up, ready to move. He glanced over at Brackett, in the same position on the other side of the door. Brackett pointed to his ear, then pointed at Jim and raised an eyebrow. Jim focused his hearing on the room they were about to storm and found single heartbeat. He raised one finger. Brackett flashed a grin and then raised his hand, three fingers extended, and counted down to one. He nodded at Jim and they both turned and kicked the door open.

"Police! Stay where you are!" Jim shouted.

Arthur Crandall didn't have the opportunity to do more than raise his hands in surrender. "What is the meaning of this?" He asked in an outraged voice. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"You bet we do." Jim nodded at Joel Taggert. "You want to do the honors, Joel?"

"My pleasure, Jim." Taggert turned to Crandall. "Arthur Crandall, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder. You have the right to remain silent."

Jim pulled Brackett aside while Joel cuffed Crandall and continued with the Miranda warning. "Now what?"

"Now, you go find Mr. Sandburg. You've got the warrant to search the hotel room, but I doubt that you'll find anything here that will tell you where he is. No doubt Crandall doesn't know either." Brackett grinned as if he was enjoying himself. "Guess you'll have to put those super-senses to work, eh, Ellison?"

Jim grimaced. "I'll find Blair. Don't you worry about that."

"A little touchy, aren't you, Jim?" Brackett narrowed his eyes. "You do know that you need Sandburg, don't you? I mean, really need him for the senses?"

"What difference does it make to you?" He didn't buy the sudden concern that Brackett seemed to be showing.

Brackett shook his head. "You're an idiot, Ellison. You have abilities that others would kill for, you know that? Look, I'm no boy scout. We both know that. If it makes you feel better, think of this as my way of protecting a possible future asset." He held up his hands placatingly at Jim's glare. "Hey, I'd never be stupid enough to try and make you do something illegal again. You don't have to kick me twice for me to learn not to touch a hot stove. But I figure I'm bound to need help or a way out of a jam someday in the future in a way that only you can provide. Life's just funny like that."

"Yeah, it's a barrel of laughs all right," Jim said dryly.

"So, believe me when I tell you that you need Sandburg. You may feel like you're in control of your senses right now, but according to the sources I've read, without a guide your control will deteriorate over time. It'd be a shame and a waste to see you end up in a psych ward."

"Your concern is touching, Brackett." Jim glanced over at Taggert. "Looks like Joel's ready to go. You riding with him?"

"I'm not about to let Crandall out of my sight." Brackett shrugged. "For what it's worth, I wish you luck, Ellison."

Jim nodded and watched the three of them head for the elevators. He turned back to the room, ready to turn it upside down in his search for something to tell him where to find Sandburg. It was way past time to bring his Guide home.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Blair wiped his damp palm on his thigh. He checked the line of sight from his position on the roof to the entrance of the building across the street, the cold metal of the rifle foreign under his fingertips. Nothing obscured his aim. The tripod was in place, the rifle loaded and ready; the only thing left was to wait for the target to exit the building.

He pulled the brim of his dark cap further down on his forehead. The sky was overcast and the air was chill on the back of his bare neck. Blair shivered in the slight breeze. He missed the familiar weight of his hair and the warmth of it on his neck when he let it fall free to his shoulders, but most of all, he missed the little ruffles, pats and tugs Jim would give it.

His heart plummeted to his stomach. Thinking about Jim wasn't allowed, but what did he do the first chance he got? He'd made his decisions and there was no turning back. Not even if it killed him. He swallowed heavily and blinked back the sudden moisture in his eyes. Really, that was only a matter of time, wasn't it?

Motion across the street distracted him from his morose thoughts. He crouched just below the edge of the wall surrounding the rooftop, muscles tense, his concentration so complete that he blocked out all extraneous sounds around him. Two men wearing ill fitting suits exited the building and one raised his arm and spoke into his wrist. This was it. Now he'd have to keep his part of the devil's bargain.

Blair flipped the ball cap around until the brim covered his nape. He smoothly raised the rifle and sighted down the long barrel, zeroing in on the small portcullis in front of the hotel exit. The target came in sight and stood there, waiting in the slight shelter for the chauffeured car to be brought around to the front. He centered his shot on the target's chest, right over the heart. His gut twisted and heaved as his finger slowly tightened on the trigger.

No matter what happened from here on out, this was the moment when he made his true choice. A life for a life, wasn't that fair? Didn't everyone want to be some kind of hero, making life and death decisions based on his or her own notion of good? So what if this decision was being made for him? Wasn't he saving someone more important to him by doing this and didn't he agree that that was what was paramount? The truth struck him as hard as a blow to the gut. No. He wouldn't agree. He'd never agree that this was right, no matter what the reason.

He gasped and lowered the rifle, then fell back on his butt and pulled his knees to his chest. With his eyes squeezed tightly shut, he dropped his head to his knees, his arms encircling his legs. He moaned softly and held on as he began to shake.

"Sorry Jim," he whispered, "I just can't do it. I can't kill him. Not even to keep you safe. I failed you again, man. I'm so, so sorry." Hot tears rolled unheeded down his cheeks.

"I'm glad to hear it, Chief."

His head whipped around and he nearly fell over as he turned at the sound of that familiar, beloved voice. "J-Jim? H-how did, um, wh-what are you doing here?" He stared in disbelief at the man he'd thought he'd never see again.

Jim's eyes held a sadness and pain that took Blair's breath away. "I'm here to bring you home, Blair."

He shook his head. "No, man, I can't go back. You don't know what I've done, what would happen. Get out of here, Jim. You can't help me and even if you could, I wouldn't want you to."

"Brave words, Chief, but full of empty threats. You haven't done anything and you couldn't do anything that would make me leave without you, so I guess we're just going to have to go together. I know exactly what's happened in the last three weeks. I know why you left and I know why you're going to come home."

Blair pushed himself to his feet and glared at the man through his tears. "You think you know so much, do you, Jim? That you know me so well? Did you know that I'm an assassin? That my target is right across the street and I'm about to shoot him?"

Jim smiled slightly. "I know that Crandall wanted to turn you into an assassin. I also know that there's no way he could succeed. Something which you so ably demonstrated just a few moments ago. You could no more deliberately pull that trigger than I can leave here without you."

Blair swiped at the tears on his cheeks. "And I'm telling you that I _am_ an assassin. I'm as capable of killing just like anyone else. Just 'cause I was getting cold feet about this one, doesn't mean that I've changed my mind." Part of him wanted to throw up at having admitted this to the person that meant the most to him. Jim was always so ready to believe the worst about Blair. He was sure that Jim wasn't going to disappoint this time.

"Chief," Jim said, his voice gentle, "you're no more an assassin than I am a ballet dancer. If you were, then Senator Franklin would already be dead."

Blair blinked and shook his head, mute with shock. He slumped back against the wall. "How did you know where to find me?"

Jim took a hesitant step forward, his hand raised as if he wanted to touch, but was afraid he'd scare him away. "I'm sorry. For so many things, but mostly for making you feel like you had no alternative but to agree to Crandall's demands. It's my fault that you're here. My fault that you believed that you couldn't come to me with any of this."

As he talked he kept inching closer until he stood toe to toe with Blair. He placed both hands on Blair's shoulders. "Jack Kelso came to see me and Simon and told us everything. Don't be mad at him, Chief. He was afraid for you. We had some help tracking you down, but I'll tell you about that later."

Blair gazed into Jim's blue eyes and wondered how he'd ever thought that he'd be able to live without him. He raised his arms and grabbed handfuls of Jim's shirt, pulling him closer. When Jim's hands slid off his shoulders and down his back until he was encircled by his embrace, Blair pressed his face into Jim's chest. They didn't need to go anywhere, because as far as he was concerned he was already home. The exhaustion he'd been holding at bay for the last few weeks washed through him and he swayed, only to be pulled closer to Jim.

"Blair? Are you all right?"

He raised his head and smiled. "Just haven't been eating or sleeping much lately. I'll be okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about."

The last thing he heard before he fainted was Jim muttering, "Can't help but worry about you, Darwin, so don't tell me not to."

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

** _Epilogue:_ **

Blair was warm and comfortable and didn't want to wake up. If this was all a dream, then he wanted to keep right on dreaming. Well, except for the insistent shaking that his shoulder was getting. He opened one eye and stared up at his roommate. At least that much of a response made Jim stop with the mini-earthquake.

"Rise and shine, Chief."

"Gah."

"I'll take that for a 'yes, Jim, I'll be right up.' Come on, Sandburg, I've got waffles waiting with your name on them."

Blair blinked and pushed himself up from the couch where he'd been napping. His gaze followed Jim into the kitchen and he watched in bemusement as the man piled a stack of waffles onto a plate and headed for the table. If the rumbling in his stomach was any indication, his body whole-heartedly agreed with this turn of events. It was his brain that seemed to be having trouble with the surreal aspects of the situation. He mentally shook himself and headed for the kitchen table.

"Waffles, Jim?" He dropped into a chair and grabbed a fork. The aroma made his mouth water. "Not that I'm complaining, man, but what's going on?"

He found it interesting when Jim wouldn't meet his gaze. Even more interesting was the slight pink tinge on his friend's cheeks. They'd been back from Seattle for two days now and Jim had made it abundantly clear that this was Blair's home. That he knew all about Blair's dirty little secrets – his words not Jim's – and that it didn't matter. That whenever Blair was ready to talk about it, that Jim was ready to listen. All that mattered was that Blair was back home where he belonged.

"Nothing's going on, Chief. I just had a craving for waffles and figured I'd make a batch." He shrugged as if this was perfectly logical.

"Okay." Blair was too tired to even tease him about the weirdness of it all. It seemed like all he'd been doing the last couple of days was sleep. And when he wasn't sleeping, Jim was pushing food at him like some kind of demented nutritionist. He looked up from his meal when Jim cleared his throat.

"Ah, Simon'll be over in about an hour, Chief." Jim fidgeted with his utensils.

Blair chewed his mouthful of waffle slowly and then placed his fork on his plate, his hunger vanishing. "Oh."

"We haven't really talked about it," Jim said slowly.

"Yeah." Blair swallowed heavily. "I guess Simon wants some answers, huh? Are you sure bringing me back here was such a good idea, Jim?"

"What? How can you ask that?" Jim frowned. "Of course it was a good idea. It was the only idea. And, Simon's not looking for answers from you, exactly. We want to go over just what you're going to say in your statement. We want to make sure that we all have our stories straight before we talk to the Feds."

"Huh?" He was obviously missing something, but that just didn't make any sense. "What are you talking about?"

Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Look, there're some things that you don't know about the last few days." He told Blair about Jack Kelso and Lee Brackett and what they'd pieced together about Arthur Crandall.

Blair sat back in his chair, a stunned expression on his face. He'd really tried not to think too hard about how Jim had found him, but this surpassed even his wildest imaginings. "Brackett, Jim?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not crazy about the fact that Brackett's out there as a free agent again," Jim said sourly, "but it's worth it to have you home. Look, I know this is a lot to take in, but one thing you need to know is that Jack Kelso would never have told us what he did if he hadn't been so worried about you."

Blair waved a hand in the air. "I've known Jack a long time. I'm not about to get mad at him for doing what he thought he had to do. I should have told you myself a long time ago. So, where does this leave us? I mean, will I be charged as some kind of accessory along with Crandall?"

"No, Chief. The only way that Simon and I would agree to let Brackett claim the credit for bagging Crandall was if we had some sort of out for you." Jim hesitated for a moment. "Simon had planned on offering you a badge before you disappeared. If you'd agreed, you were going to be my official partner. So our story is that Crandall contacted you before Simon could make the announcement in public and you came to see Simon and me. We decided that you'd go undercover unofficially to get as much on him as you could. Brackett was after Crandall and when he stumbled on your involvement, he contacted Kelso, who contacted us. Intelligence circles tend to be convoluted, so it's just plausible enough to be believable."

"You're talking about a conspiracy to cover up a crime, man," Blair whispered.

"What crime?" Jim raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall you actually doing anything illegal. All you did was set up the rifle, Blair. You never pulled the trigger. Hell, you weren't even targeting him when I came up to you on that rooftop."

"You're willing to lie for me? Both you and Simon?"

"We don't see it as a lie, so much, Chief. More like an obfuscation." Jim smiled. "Besides, neither one of us has much trust that the Feds would get it right if we told them what actually happened."

"I don't know what to say, man."

"Say you'll stay, Chief." Jim looked at him hopefully.

"Stay?"

"Yeah. Stay. Here. This is your home." Jim rubbed the back of his neck. "I know Simon's still going to offer you a job, but unless you say that you want it, I don't think it's going to be a detective's shield."

"A job." Blair frowned. "What kind of job?"

"From what Simon told me, he's working on trying to create a civilian consultant position for you. Something that wouldn't require you to carry a gun, but would still let you work with me officially. If that's what you want to do. Either way you choose, I want you to know that this is where you belong. If you don't want to keep on working with me in Major Crime, then we'll figure something else out." Jim's gaze held his, a sober expression on his face. "Together, Blair. We'll do this together. All right?"

A weight that he hadn't even known he was carrying around lifted off of his heart. Maybe, he thought, everything really did happen for a reason. Maybe they were going to be all right after all.

"Together, Jim. I like the sound of that." Blair smiled. "And no more secrets."

"You got it, partner."


End file.
